


by choice

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “I know birthdays aren’t really your thing,” he said, “but with everything that’s happened recently… I think she needs this from us. A reminder that we care.” Jaskier rubbed their noses together. “That we’re her family.”The thing was, Geralt knew he was right.He hummed, quiet. “I’m not good at… this kind of stuff,” he admitted, pressing his lips together.“Oh, I know,” Jaskier said, light and teasing. “That’s why I’ll take care of everything.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 325





	by choice

**Author's Note:**

> for day 6 of geraskier week: found family
> 
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> tumblr: korrmin  
> and if u love my fics and want to support me, check the link below:
> 
> https://korrmin.tumblr.com/writing

“Okay, so, I was thinking we could grab her new boots from the market; her shoes are almost ruined, what with all the traveling,” Jaskier was saying, waving a hand back and forth in the air flippantly.

Geralt was sitting on the bed with him, cleaning his swords with a rag. He looked over with a crease between his eyebrows. “Okay?” he said, not sure what had prompted Jaskier to talk about Cirilla’s shoes but accepting it easily enough–her shoes _were_ almost ruined and he’d been thinking about buying her a new pair for a few weeks.

Jaskier looked up, meeting his eyes. “Geralt,” he said in that tone that meant Geralt had done something he disapproved of.

Usually he did a pretty job of guessing what Jaskier was upset about but right now he was stumped. Entirely.

“Okay,” he said, gruff. “What am I missing?”

Jaskier gasped dramatically and Geralt rolled his eyes, entirely fond, as the bard scrambled over, closer, sticking his face in Geralt’s.

“Are you pulling my leg right now?” he asked, searching Geralt’s face like he expected to find the answer in the lines of his face.

Geralt raised both eyebrows, a silent answer, setting his sword out of the way and predictably Jaskier crawled in his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“It’s Cirilla’s birthday,” he reminded him gently.

Geralt’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. He’d forgotten; Geralt had never been big on the concept of birthdays, probably because they hadn’t been important to him growing up, not after he’d been abandoned by his mother and trained as a Witcher.

He assumed Jaskier saw something in his face - or maybe his eyes - because he cupped his face between his hands and leaned in, pressing a soft, loving kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was more than Geralt deserved, but he was a selfish man.

So he gripped Jaskier’s hips, thumbing the dips in his hips, and kissed him again, deep and slow.

Jaskier pulled back after a moment, ignoring Geralt’s disappointed growl expertly. He pet Geralt’s hair almost thoughtfully.

“I know birthdays aren’t really your thing,” he said, “but with everything that’s happened recently… I think she needs this from us. A reminder that we care.” Jaskier rubbed their noses together. “That we’re her family.”

The thing was, Geralt knew he was right.

He hummed, quiet. “I’m not good at… this kind of stuff,” he admitted, pressing his lips together.

“Oh, I know,” Jaskier said, light and teasing. “That’s why I’ll take care of everything.” He winked. “You just have to show up, grace us with your presence.”

Geralt let out a snort. He didn’t know what he’d do without Jaskier, sometimes. He was a pro at lightening the mood, making Geralt feel better – _worthy_.

“Okay,” he agreed. He leaned down, forward, nuzzling Jaskier’s jaw. “I’m glad you’re here,” he muttered, almost painfully honest.

Jaskier curled his fingers in Geralt’s hair. “I know,” he breathed. Geralt smirked. “Now less talking, please.”

-

Geralt trusted Jaskier, and he proved it by handing him his pouch of coins the morning before Cirilla’s birthday. Jaskier pecked his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Cirilla was sitting on the bed, staring at Jaskier suspiciously. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business,” he chirped as he opened the door and left to the market.

Geralt closed the door behind him, a fond quirk to his lips, and turned around. He quickly noticed Cirilla was staring at _him_ now. “You two are hiding something from me,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. It wasn’t a question. “I thought you said we were a family now, and families don’t have secrets.”

He snorted as he approached the bed. “ _Jaskier_ said that,” he reminded her. “And not all secrets are bad.”

“Really?” she asked skeptically.

Geralt nodded, pulling his bag over. He took out his swords and, routinely, Cirilla grabbed one. Silently, they both started to clean the swords.

“Um,” Cirilla started before stopping, biting her bottom lip. She had a thoughtful look on her face.

Geralt pulled out a sharpening stone, a necessity on his travels. “What is it?” he asked, not unkindly.

Cirilla fidgeted with her hands, finished with her sword. The blade was shining, clean. “Never mind,” she said finally, ducking her head. Her cheeks were a little pink, and Geralt realized with a start that perhaps she was trying to ask about her birthday.

His heart felt heavy. “Ciri, um.”

“No, really,” she interrupted quickly. “It’s nothing. Just, um – ” she nodded at the stone. “Do your thing.”

Geralt frowned. Jaskier had been very vocal about keeping it a secret, said surprises were more fun, especially for children. But in that moment he almost caved, needing her to know they cared about her, even if he didn’t truly understand the importance of birthdays.

But Jaskier was putting in so much work and he didn’t want to ruin it.

So he took a deep breath and started sharpening his sword.

-

Jaskier returned a couple hours later, grinning like a fool. Cirilla was right back to looking skeptical. “Follow me, Your Highness,” he announced, puffing his chest out and extending a hand. Looking the part of a very clumsy, stupid knight.

Geralt snorted, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Just go with it,” he whispered in her ear, and she giggled, swatting at him playfully.

She accepted Jaskier’s hand and he brought it up to his mouth, kissing it.

Cirilla rolled her eyes, but she was grinning the biggest she had in months and Geralt found himself smiling. Jaskier led her out of the room and down the hall of the inn.

Geralt suddenly wished he had helped more in planning things. He was starting to understand the appeal (mostly, the big grin on Cirilla’s face).

-

Jaskier led them to the woods and through the trees. Cirilla kept glancing at Geralt, a mix of excitement and nerves, who just shrugged, giving no answers. (Not that he had many, considering he hadn’t planned any of this with Jaskier.)

Pouting, she looked away and barely missed tripping over a root.

“Jaskier,” she whined, and he looked back over his shoulder.

“We’re almost there,” he assured her. “Just right through – ” he pointed ahead “ – those trees.”

Geralt stepped through the last of the trees and into a big clearing. Cirilla gasped, a soft happy thing, and looked around. Jaskier had decorated with a few different blankets thrown around the ground, almost a nest, and pillows.

Most importantly, Jaskier had gotten a cake for Cirilla. It was big and spongy and looked amazing.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” he asked, unable to help himself. “There’s no bakeries in town.”

Jaskier grinned, looking way too pleased with himself. “I had some help,” he said with a wink, and Geralt watched in shock as Yennefer stepped out from between the trees. She looked as good as ever, but more than that she looked _happy_. She smiled at Cirilla, who threw herself at her.

“Yen!” she exclaimed, hugging her. Yennefer rubbed a hand through her hair.

“Happy Birthday, Ciri,” she said, uncharacteristically soft.

Geralt looked over at Jaskier, who walked over and wrapped his arms around his neck. “So?”

“I don’t think _my_ opinion matters,” Geralt replied, pointedly, as his eyes flickered over to the girls. Cirilla was talking animatedly to Yennefer about something, who was listening patiently, brushing her fingers through the young girl’s hair.

Jaskier grinned, biting the inside of his cheek. “And just think, she hasn’t even had her presents yet.”

“Presents?” Cirilla said, perking up like a dog.

Geralt barked out a laugh that surprised even himself and Jaskier nosed at his jaw with a toothy grin.

“Come on,” Jaskier said afterwards. “Sit down and you can open them.”

-

Cirilla opened Yennefer’s present first: a small dagger, beautiful and engraved with the young girl’s nickname – _Ciri_. “Until you get your powers under control,” she explained, “you need to have ways of defending yourself without them.”

She hugged her and admired the dagger as Jaskier fetched the rest of her gifts.

“From Geralt and I,” he lied easily, and Geralt almost felt guilty but he wasn’t about to ruin the moment.

The first present was a new pair of boots, just like Jaskier had mentioned getting for her. She grinned and tugged her shoes off, trying them on. She wiggled her feet. “Perfect fit.”

The second was a scarf, thick and brown. Cirilla beamed and wrapped it around her neck.

Lastly was a new pair of gloves because, same as her boots, her gloves had seen better days, too.

Dressed up in all her new things, she opened her last gift, which Jaskier said was from all of them. Geralt watched as her face did something complicated, pulling it out. He noticed it was a necklace with a pendant. She turned it over and her eyes watered, and Geralt itched to know what was on it.

“Jaskier, Yen, Geralt,” she said, sniffing. “Um. Thank you.”

Geralt scooted closer to get a look. It was a simple silver pendant, rectangular, and it was engraved:

_To Cirilla, may you always be loved_

_From, Your Family_

Geralt looked at Jaskier. His eyes stung with tears, but that was _ridiculous_. Geralt hadn’t cried in years.

“We love you, Ciri,” Yennefer said, and Cirilla let out a wet laugh, crawling over to hug her. Yennefer wrapped an arm around her and peered up at the boys, raising an eyebrow expectantly. “ _Well?_ ”

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and they both crawled over, joining in. Cirilla was crying openly now, face buried in Yennefer’s shoulder, but no one said anything. They all knew it was a mix of sad and happy tears. Cirilla would never have her old family back, there was no changing that, but at least she had a new one. A family by choice could be stronger than a family by blood.


End file.
